Plastic Memories: Stories From an American Terminal Service
by Alaystus
Summary: A collection of stories taking place in the world of Plastic Memories from various perspectives, completely independent from the original story. Heavily inspired by and based upon the original premise; keeps the original story as Canon. Very likely to contain no spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

You'd think it'd be easy to see them as the Humans and us as… something else. Truth be told, we aren't humans; we're different. In a few ways, we're different by design. Overall, though, we're designed just like them. Giftias are said to be "Androids with Synthetic Souls," and it pains me to hear the clear intent in that statement. We weren't made to be _like_ humans. We were made to _be_ humans; and in lieu of that, to be people. Most people think we were made to be caretakers, and in most cases that seems to be what we do in one way or another. Giftias almost always take care of at least one human in their lifetime, whether it's by being physically involved, or simply emotionally available. And while that may be a reason why we were designed, I don't think it explains why we were designed like this. Who builds a caretaker that needs to be cared for? Sure, sometimes we get hurt and we break, like humans. We need to be fixed and repaired, manually. Physically.

But no matter how many times my chassis breaks.

No matter how many times my battery runs out.

The mechanics can't seem to repair my broken emotions.

… Maybe I just need a different kind of mechanic. Hah.

* * *

A few decades ago, SAI Corp. expanded their market overseas by overwhelmingly popular demand. An extremely successful, albeit complicated and morally questionable company, it was no wonder their products became a hit here in America. Their products, of course, being Giftias.

"Giftia?" A young boy tipped his head to the side, with a hand raised. A bit rude to ask the question before being called on, but it was forgivable. I chuckled a bit and offered a thin smile back to the classroom of fourth graders.

"Mmhm. Giftias. Do you know about them?"

"Mmh, yeah, a bit! My mom said they're like… Synths! But that's not what they're called. I heard her say they have souls! Is that true?"

I narrowed my eyes slightly at this innocent question. The ignorance of human youth is sometimes lost on me, though I won't lie and say I don't understand it. I'm designed to understand it. Maybe it's because I spent so much time with that old hag.

"… Well. That's the idea anyway. Androids with Souls. Can anyone here tell me if they've ever seen a Giftia before?" Several children raised their hands; in total, five out of twenty. I raised a brow and cocked a smile. "Can you tell me what they were like?" I gestured towards a girl in the back of the classroom. She had long, black hair tied up into a ponytail with a thick white ribbon. It almost looked like the sort of thing you'd see on a poster, instead of in real life.

"My dad is a Giftia. He's really nice, and he takes me out to the park all the time! I think he's better than a human dad!"

It wasn't the first time the words of a child had carved a small wound into my heart. I visibly winced slightly as she spoke, but I moved through it. I chuckled a little, and I showed her a smile. Some of the other children in the classroom let out a hushed sound of awe at this development.

"Well that sounds quite nice. I'm glad to hear he's such a nice man."

I knew it wasn't his fault, but that man— whoever he was, was going to hurt her someday. Sooner than she'd like. And it made one of the next points I had to deliver to these children even harder on me.

"But he doesn't look any different from any other dad, does he? If you didn't know he was a Giftia, would you be able to tell the difference?"

The girl shook her head, just like I knew she would. I continued.

"Exactly. Giftias aren't just robots, they're people; just like you. Typically, families will order a Giftia for a few reasons. For example, if say Grandma or Grandpa need help getting around, or need to be cared for, a Giftia can easily and reliably care for them for years. Or, perhaps, if a mom or dad can't be around often enough because of their job, a Giftia can always be home to care for kids or to help keep everything together." As I went on, I began to see a few eyes drift away from me and my long, boring speech. I knew that this wasn't one of the most exciting parts of the lecture, so I tried to rein it back in.

"… About fifteen of you here have never seen a Giftia before, am I right?" The children nodded their heads. A chuckle escaped my throat as I put a hand to my chest. "Well. Think again; I'm actually a Giftia myself." A chorus of, "Ooohs" and "Wows" sprung up from the class, mixed in with hints of doubt here and there. So, to prove my point, I brought my hand down to the rather large, bulky luggage I'd brought in with me and patted it a couple times. "Now I know some of you won't believe me, but if you'd like, I can prove it. While Giftias look and behave like humans in almost every regard, there are a few things that set them apart. One is their strength. Would any of you like to try to move my luggage?" A few heads tipped to the side at my suggestion, but a few hands shot straight up. I beckoned them to come give it a try. One by one, the children attempted to push, shove, and lift the heavy object; none were successful. Little did they know, I'd had it wheeled in earlier. After the last valiant soul finally retired, I placed my hands onto my hips to address the classroom once more. "Giftias possess a near superhuman amount of strength, which is usually reserved for crisis situations and other emergency scenarios. So most of the time our strength is inhibited one way or another. But I can override that just once for you, to show you the extent of our abilities." As I spoke, I stepped toward the luggage and pulled away the outer layer in order to reveal the horribly bulky one-ton weight hiding within. Without stopping to hesitate, I squatted down near the weight's base, and rather easily lifted it from the floor to hold it at chest-level. I'd have put the thing over my head had the ceiling not been in the way. After a moment, I looked back towards the classroom to a variety of expressions. Some awed, some floored, and some concerned. I offered a smile before carefully setting the weight down once more. "… So it's kind of like being a superhero… But not. I don't normally go around throwing cars, or lifting heavy debris off people; my job is pretty different from all that.

"Have any of you heard of the Terminal Service?"

As the words left my lips, I knew I'd regret them. They'd already been on my mind since that morning when I'd prepared the speech. When I looked to the black-haired girl in the back of the classroom, however, I realized that I should have perhaps improvised. Her hand was raised, yes, but the expression she gave me was all too familiar. Something like despair. I nodded once and continued.

"A Giftia's maximum lifespan is about 81,920 hours, which is roughly nine years and four months. After the end of their lifespan, a Giftia begins to sort of slow down into something more like… A zombie!" I raised my arms at this, and began to stiffly pace in front of the desks to a small amount of laughter. "… But instead of craving brains, Giftias after their expiration date moreso just… walk around, and sometimes attack things if they feel threatened. Basic stuff. Giftias like that are known as Walkers." I eventually stopped moving around like a clown, and turned back to the class with a small smile. "… But that's where the Terminal service comes in. We make sure things like that never happen. Near the end of a Giftia's lifespan, a team from the Terminal service will arrive to retrieve them. The family who owned the Giftia gets to be there to say goodbye, and then we take them back to the company. That's all there is to it." I offered one last nod and looked around at the class. Most seemed to have followed what I'd said… or at least, I'd like to think they did. "Any questions?"

The black-haired girl from the back of the class, somewhat slowly, raised her hand. I swallowed hard, and nodded to her.

"What's your question."

It took about five seconds before she could properly respond.

"… What if the family doesn't want to say goodbye?"

The question wasn't one I hadn't anticipated, but one that hurt all the same. I let out a sigh and narrowed my eyes slightly.

"… Most families don't, in my experience. Saying goodbye can be hard." I paused after saying this. I was going off script a bit, and didn't have any reasonable words at the ready. "… So, when that happens, I try to convince them to anyway. Because I believe that being able to say goodbye is better than not being able to say anything at all." I swallowed once more. I wasn't sure if what I'd said was the right thing to tell the young girl, especially given her circumstances. But it was what I believed. I offered her one last smile, albeit weak, and she found the decency within her to nod to me.

I was able to "save" the presentation by shifting the focus towards the intricacies of the job, and I explained the roles of the "Marksman" and "Spotter" that make up the two-unit retrieval teams within the terminal service. The Marksman is a Giftia tasked with speaking to the family, negotiating, and all-around dealing with the situation, while the Spotter is a Human tasked with overseeing their Giftia partner to ensure they're performing properly. The balance of work may seem unfair, but the fact of the matter is that Giftias are generally more well-equipped to deal with social and diplomatic situations than any standard human would be, as the result of well-built programs. It just makes more sense.

* * *

At the end of my presentation, I took a small bow, answered a few more questions, and had my "luggage" wheeled out once more. As I was leaving at the end of class, the small black-haired girl stopped me on my way out. I felt a pit in my throat as I hesitated, and looked down towards her. I wanted nothing more than to run away. She looked up at me with some sort of expectant expression, as if I held answers that she desperately needed. I'm no oracle.

"… Do you like your job?"

A small sigh escaped me, and I followed it with a thin-lipped smile.

"… I like working with my friends. I like getting to meet new people every week and learning about them. But saying goodbye is hard for me too."

Her eyes widened at my words, and I thought I'd perhaps gone too far before she suddenly spoke up once more.

"… Will you come take my dad?"

Though she hadn't said it, I could hear the words, _"away from me,"_ echoing in my mind. I wasn't sure how to respond to this question, as there were way too many variables. How much time did he have left? Was it more or less than the time I have left? Is she in our radius, or are they in another Terminal Service's range? It somehow became too much for me, and I ended up kneeling down in front of her. I couldn't smile anymore, it wasn't exactly something I could force. Why they chose me, of all people, to present this job to children is beyond me. They should have known better. I reached out and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a light squeeze.

"… I don't take people away. I won't come to take him from you. I say goodbye to people, and I help others do the same. That's all. We'll see if I can be there for it, okay?"

She wouldn't smile at me. I could tell I'd created a rather tough situation that her father would surely have to deal with in a few hours, and I certainly felt guilty. It had to be me to break it to her, I suppose, if her father hadn't done it already. Perhaps I'd saved him the initial pain. Somehow, however, through it all she managed to keep herself from crying. I admired her strength. She nodded once more to me, and even thanked me before leaving. I was a little more than shocked. As I watched her go I thought about what I'd done, and whether or not I should have intervened at all. Yes, of course it was part of the presentation I was supposed to give, but I surely could have skipped it.

It's not as though I'd lied to her.

I don't come to take people away; they're scheduled to leave on their own.

Isn't being left unprepared for the inevitable loss worse?

Better to understand it and accept it, knowing it will come.

Sooner than anyone would have liked.

The walk back to the parking lot was rather somber, and likely quieter than it really was. I seem to always have days like these, I thought, as I stepped into my company car. I made sure to play something relaxing on the ride home.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.


	2. Heads-Up

Hey. I'm Alaystus, and I wrote this at some point.

I'm not doing super great as an author at the moment, but given this still apparently has traffic, I wanted to make an update.

If I do update this story, which I may at some point (since I wrote a hell of a lot of chapter 2, but never finished it), I'll probably do it on a different site, called Royal Road.

If you don't want to bother reading this story, which I may not update, on a different website, that's perfectly understandable.

Otherwise, I'll link my account here:

profile/151718

It'll take some serious personal improvement on my end before I think I'll do any real writing again, but I haven't completely given up on this story, or writing in general.

Thank you for reading my work. I hope you appreciated it.


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